


Sex Kitten

by Cesare, helens78



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Cat!Charles, Catboys & Catgirls, Crack, Flirting, Friendship, Humor, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-10-14
Updated: 2011-10-30
Packaged: 2017-10-24 14:44:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/264679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cesare/pseuds/Cesare, https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a recruitment trip, Charles and Erik encounter a mutant whose power leaves Charles a little... changed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Swallowing The Canary

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiration came from many, many sources on Tumblr, who created [gems like these](http://helens78.tumblr.com/tagged/catavoy). If you're not familiar with the cat!Charles phenomenon, that link will either explain everything or explain nothing. *g*

"I'm beginning to wonder if you made up this phantom mutant," Erik remarks as they drive down the main street of Rayville, Ohio for the fourth time. "Are you sure you didn't lure me out here for a dirty weekend?"

"Drat, you caught me," Charles says into the crook of the map. "When I struck out in New York and Washington and Atlantic City, I thought it was time to splash out and show you Rayville. The sights, the sounds, the atmosphere... you know what they say: if you can't make it here, you can't make it anywhere."

Erik betrays himself with a slight smile, allowing Charles to see his amusement before he returns to the goal. "Aren't you tracking with your powers?" he asks. "How does the map figure into this?"

"I'm sensing him perhaps half a mile that way," Charles points with his elbow, his fingers still firmly pressed to his temple, "but according to the map, there are no roads in that direction."

"Show me," Erik says.

"Pull over up here--"

«Like this.» Glancing over, he sees Charles brightening a little, the way he always does when Erik projects thoughts to him; especially when it's unnecessary, just the two of them alone. Charles has taught all the recruits how to do it, but Erik is the only one who seems to communicate that way with him regularly.

He has no idea why they're squeamish. Charles will either respect their wishes and stay out of their minds unless invited, as he claims he does, or he won't. There's no way to know and nothing to be done about it, and communicating with him mind-to-mind won't change that; and in the meantime, it's too great an advantage to go unused.

Charles sends him the image of the map, along with his ineffable sense of the mutant they're looking for. That sense is as impossible to trap within the limits of ordinary human language as Erik's own magnetism, his feel for all the metal around them: the carapace of the car, the knife in his boot, the assortment of coins and metal trinkets that he suspects Charles carries in his pockets these days on purpose. Charles seems set on indulging in every imaginable provocation to make these trips lively. It does keep Erik on his toes.

Erik's had cause to follow a great many more remote paths than Charles has, and he solves this puzzle easily enough, following the mental map toward their destination. A street that appears to dead-end branches off to the right in a long stretch of gravel, unmarked. "There's our road."

"Capital. Well spotted," says Charles, letting the map fall in favor of concentrating, homing in. When he uses his power visibly like that, his fingers to his temple, his eyes cast toward the distance, Erik could almost... well. Charles certainly has his moments.

They've been on the road a while now, and Erik's been to bed with stunning women like the one whose tattoos shifted and turned into gorgeous gossamer wings, and attractive men like the one whose mutation caused him to develop armor plating when held down and fucked hard, and who became inhumanly flexible when he returned the favor-- whether anything more comes of it, he's pleased that both Angel and Armando decided to join up with them-- but it's been a little while since they found anyone with such gloriously evident mutations.

Really, he never expected that his biggest regret on this trip would be missing Hank and Raven, Hank's beautiful agile feet and Raven's gorgeous blue skin. But a few weeks sharing a bed with them while they worked out Cerebro's bugs and made up a list of potential recruits left Erik feeling very, very spoiled.

At times he thinks this entire interlude is a dangerous indulgence. He's not in the habit of succumbing to anything that sways him from his purpose. But Charles was right, when he challenged Erik that first night at the CIA compound. Shaw has friends; Erik will need allies to face him. He'll need Charles to counter Shaw's telepath, others to take out the storm-bringer and the teleporter. And Shaw could have more waiting in the wings, with his head start of years to gather them. Aligning with Charles and recruiting as many mutants as they can is Erik's best strategy right now.

The momentum of all this traveling satisfies his need to feel he's progressing toward Shaw's defeat. But it's also full of unavoidable waits and delays, and Charles seems set on exploiting every moment. If he isn't trading innuendo with Erik, he's flirting with the waiter, the stewardess, the night clerk, the passing businessman, and vanishing with whomever takes him up on his advances. And yet every evening, there he is back in the hotel room, sitting across the chessboard and joining Erik in laying out plans for the future, as serious and earnest as ever.

Charles, in other words, has a knack for finding opportunities to enjoy himself, which Erik has never had much interest in learning, til now. But this is part of what was taken from him too, and once he realized that, he stopped thinking of his sex drive as a distraction and began to exercise it freely-- and just in time to discover what it's like to finally be with his own kind.

Though for all that Charles is one of the most powerful mutants Erik can imagine, apparently the spark isn't there for either of them. No matter; Charles is a terrible flirt, and Erik's never enjoyed anyone's company so much. Charles delights in coaxing Erik to express the sort of things he's used to keeping to himself, and Erik's been surprising himself with his own sense of humor, his willingness to engage in conversation not just to further an objective but for its own sake, and his urge to compete a bit with Charles when it comes time to compare notes. They certainly have kept themselves busy enough, and sharing all the details with Charles has been an entertaining way to pass hours of monotonous driving.

"Ah, here we are," Charles says. This area is less developed than the town proper, but there are a few houses among the sparse woods and plowed fields. "I believe it'll be the white house with the green shutters, there."

Erik parks on the flattened grass running up to a shed alongside the house and gets out, stretching. Charles appropriates the rearview mirror to look himself over before exiting the car, and then consults the side mirror as well. Erik shakes his head, more at himself than anything; he even finds Charles's vanity amusing. He never imagined he'd have the patience to endure another person's foibles for any longer than he absolutely had to, but he finds he doesn't mind waiting for Charles to brush himself off and order his clothes and run his hands once more through his hair.

"Shall we?" he asks once Charles seems ready at last.

Charles gives him a smile and starts toward the house. "We shall."

-

The Rayville mutant's name is Freddie. His mutations aren't obvious, to Erik's disappointment. He looks like a human, dark-haired and attractive in a broad-shouldered, forthright, boring sort of way, though he is, incongruously, wearing a sturdy brown apron when he answers the door, and he keeps it on throughout the introductions, even as he's offering them coffee and letting them sit down.

He's soft-spoken, with a mild slide of a Midwestern accent when he says, "It sure is nice to meet you."

Freddie seems receptive to Charles's opening spiel. But when Charles gently inquires after Freddie's abilities, the young man colors and looks down as if ashamed.

"You should hold your head up high," Erik tells him. "You represent an advancement over the current human species. A step beyond the rest of mankind."

It seems to have the opposite of the intended effect, though, as Freddie gives him a look of frank alarm and stops responding with anything but nods and shrugs.

«I think I might make a bit more headway on my own,» Charles sends. «He's terribly intimidated by you.»

«I can't say I think much of his backbone, then. I only said a few words.»

«You are awfully imposing, though. You look forbidding just sitting there.»

«If you say so.»

«You can head back to town without me. Freddie here can drive me back, he has to work tonight at Montoni's Restaurant.» Charles supplies the location, helpfully superimposed on the image of the map, along with a second spot: «There's a friendly pub just a little further down the street from Montoni's, called the Pullman Car. I could meet you there. Shouldn't be more than an hour or so.»

«How friendly?»

Charles glances his way with a canted eyebrow and a coy smile. «I should imagine it'll be very friendly, for you.»

-

The Pullman Car's name turns out to be an unsubtle indication of just how friendly the bar really is. Erik only has to exchange glances with the bartender, Angelo, before he's being guided to sit on the far side of the bar, which divides the back area from the front of the room with its sad sack afternoon punters. Back here it's a bit darker and much more discreet, the bar blocking the view from the front windows and door.

The two men lingering over their drinks on this side of the bar size Erik up openly as he lets Angelo bring him a martini, delivered with a hopeful look that Erik lets pass for now. New blood in a small town; Erik's been here many times before. He nods in a friendly but reserved manner at the two other men. There's nothing the matter with either of them, he'd take company from one or both in a pinch, but he's in no hurry for it. One of them is roughly his age, the other a few years younger-- both on the plain side, not that Erik's always been picky about such things.

He has, though, been a little more selective since meeting Charles... not _because_ of Charles precisely, but with the company they're keeping now, there's something inherently satisfying about being with people who are _like him_. People who understand what it feels like to be an outsider, to be different. People with whom he can share a sense of growing past fear, shame, all the little things the world would have liked them to feel because of their differences. Or failing that, people whose smaller differences remind him of the promise of change to come.

As Erik finishes his martini, a fourth man walks into this section of the bar, glancing around at the other men, at Erik. He doesn't waste any time; maybe he approaches Erik because Erik's the best of the lot, or maybe it's because Erik's alone with an empty glass in front of him. Either way, he sits down next to Erik and says, "Would you like another?" He nods at Erik's glass.

Erik looks him over carefully. Older, perhaps fifty, and with a slightly receding hairline... but he's trim, and has an intriguing cleft chin, and the confidence in his expression is certainly appealing. And Erik has nothing against balding men; quite the opposite. "Not just yet," he says, though, pushing the martini glass away slightly. "What's your name?"

"Tim. And yours?"

"Erik."

"I'm not in town for long."

"Neither am I."

"Well." Tim gives him a long, appraising look, more for effect than anything, Erik supposes-- it isn't as though Erik didn't see Tim looking him over when he first came in. "I could use some company."

If he were more inclined to banter, Erik might offer a riposte: _aren't we already keeping one another company?_ But that sort of thing has always seemed like a waste of time-- _except when it's with Charles_ , a nagging little voice pipes up to tell him, and yes, that's true, but he's not... _not thinking about Charles just now_ , he tells himself forcefully, and he settles his attention back on Tim.

"I'm not averse to company," he says. "Here or elsewhere?"

Tim glances back behind Erik's shoulder; Erik follows his gaze to the door of the men's room. It's not the first time he's been propositioned like this, and probably won't be the last, especially if he keeps frequenting places like this... and he really has no reason not to go along with it, so he nods. "Fine," he says. "Have a drink if you like." He sends his ability out, gets a sense for the particular metal on Tim's person. A slim band of nickel-plated brass on his belt buckle. The zipper on his trousers, of course. A steel watch. A pocketful of change--three dollars and thirteen cents' worth of it. Good enough; he won't have to worry about mistaking Tim for anyone else. "I'll be waiting."

He heads for the men's room first, and Tim lingers at the bar just long enough to be discreet. In a mere few minutes, though, he's piling into the stall with Erik, hands everywhere, mouth greedy, whispering out _what do you do, what do you like, tell me,_ and Erik turns around, faces the stall wall, pushes his trousers down around his thighs. He's delighted to find that Tim had the foresight to bring a bit of Vaseline along with him, won't that make things easier, though he'll have to be careful of the cleanup after... and then Tim's making very, very sure that Erik isn't thinking about _after_ or the _cleanup_ , or really anything other than keeping as quiet as he can, while Tim does his level best to see that it takes no small effort.

-

When it's all over, Tim puts his clothes quickly back in order and edges past Erik, out of the stall. Erik half expects Tim to bolt, he _did_ say he wasn't going to be in town long, but despite the length of time it takes Erik to clean up and square himself away, Tim's waiting outside the stall for Erik when Erik's done. Erik squares his shoulders-- does _not_ limp, though certainly Tim did as much as he could to ensure Erik would-- and steps back out into the men's, smiling lazily at Tim. "What a pleasant diversion. It's almost a pity neither one of us is staying here in Rayville longer."

"Almost," Tim says with a laugh. "Busy tonight, then, I take it?"

"I'm afraid so. I've a friend who should be showing up at--" Erik glances at his watch, "any moment, really, though punctuality is not usually his strong suit."

"Will this friend of yours mind if I buy you a drink before I head off?"

"I can't imagine that he would," Erik says. "He's not that sort of friend, to mind."

"Too bad for him." Tim grins, showing dimples; dimples and cleft chins and a receding hairline might be the tiniest of mutations, but Erik smiles as he sees them. "Come on, then, let's have that drink."

At the bar, Erik takes a careful seat, and Tim's eyes flick over him, watching the care with a hint of smugness. The bartender-- Angelo, the same one as before, and looking every bit as friendly-- comes over, and when he sees Erik and Tim together, Erik can see a faint light of understanding come over Angelo's face.

It's probably the wrong sort of understanding-- for all Erik knows, Angelo thinks Erik went off with Tim because he's an older man-- but that answer's as good as any other, so far as Erik's concerned. It's not that Angelo isn't attractive, he's quite good-looking, but he lacks that something extra that tends to move Erik from languid, calculating interest to actual activity.

He's nice enough, though, bringing out beers for both of them and settling Tim's tab, and after Tim takes his leave, Angelo makes a bit of a show of swiping out a glass with a bar towel and raising his eyebrows. "I don't suppose you'll be interested in anything _else_ tonight..."

Erik grins at him. "No, at this point I'm just waiting for a friend."

"Another friend! New in town and already popular."

Laughing, Erik shakes his head, and when he hears the door open, he glances over. Happily, it's Charles, who looks as though he's had a pleasant afternoon himself. He's got a faint flush about him, and his lips are even more red than usual, certainly swollen, and he licks carefully at the corner of his mouth as he catches sight of Erik and heads over to the bar.

"Hello there," Erik says, lifting an eyebrow. "How did the rest of your chat go?"

Charles cuts him a smile and hops easily up onto the bar stool next to Erik's. "Nicely. We're to check back with him tomorrow before we leave town, but I don't think he's likely to sign on." He props his elbow on the bar and brushes his fingers against his temple. «Pity, it's an interesting mutation. Your hair's a bit out of place, did you know?»

Erik sweeps a hand through his hair, settling the strands back in order. «Better?»

«Yes. What did you get up to while I was gone?»

«A bit of this, a bit of that...» Erik smirks. "You never know. If we're seeing him again tomorrow, perhaps we can be persuasive." «Or did you try your best with persuasion already? How 'interesting' was that mutation?»

Charles rolls his eyes a bit. «I suppose even you would have taken a second look at him if you'd known what he had under his apron. The mutation itself is terribly fascinating. It's an awful pity he wasn't keen to test it, because as he puts it, he can 'make wishes' that come true. From the sound of what he's actually done, he can change people's bodies, even himself… » And Charles's smirk meets and surpasses Erik's. «Three guesses what he's 'wished' for himself, and the first two don't count. I don't suppose the food here is any good? I'm rather famished after all that.»

Signaling Angelo back over, Erik orders a pint for Charles; he will _never_ get used to beer in the United States, never, but in the Midwest there do seem to be a few less-vile varieties. "Thanks," Erik says, Charles echoing him, and Angelo's gaze slides over Charles appreciatively before he reassures them that _anything you boys need, anything at all_ , he'll provide. Then he's off again, leaving a menu behind for Charles.

«You didn't,» Charles sends, looking Angelo over critically. «Did you?»

«Not with him, no,» Erik sends back. «I'm much more interested in our Freddie's wish for himself. Be as salacious as you like with the details, I've had mine for the afternoon. What _did_ our dear young Freddie have under that apron?»

Charles is glancing around the bar, though, apparently distracted by Erik's confirmation that he has been up to something, just not with the bartender. «He left,» Erik offers. «Back to the topic at hand, Charles...»

«Not just at hand,» Charles says, grin returning. «It's probably a good thing we're conducting our wrap-up mind-to-mind, I daresay I'll croak a bit if I really try to talk.»

«Will you, now.» Erik takes a long, lingering glance over Charles's body. «It doesn't _look_ as though he's wished you any frog parts...»

Charles draws himself up straight with mock offense. "Certainly not," he says, and although his voice is a bit hoarse, he's not really croaking after all. "As it happens, he was entirely pleased with the encounter as-was, no alterations necessary."

"I withdraw the suggestion."

"You should."

«But that wish...?»

With the return to the subject, or perhaps just Erik's switch back to mental communication, Charles's expression shifts into a sunny smile. «Yes, that. He's wished himself to positively Brobdingnagian proportions. I thought I might sprain something.»

Erik chuckles out loud. "Then so much for a sandwich." He waves Angelo back over, nodding at Charles. "I believe my friend might like a bowl of soup."

"Yes, thank you, the minestrone sounds lovely," Charles confirms.

"Coming right up," Angelo says, disappearing again.

Erik looks Charles over fondly, taking in the redness of his mouth once again. It's not that he hasn't noticed Charles's mouth before, at times he's idly wondered if the lurid color has its basis in a secondary mutation of some sort... but thinking of the purpose Charles has just put it to makes Erik lick his own lips, imagining what it would have been like to lick and suck at a man whose mutation had manifested in _that_ particular way.

«Overachiever,» Erik sends with affection. «My afternoon wasn't nearly that interesting.»

Charles raises an eyebrow, giving another glance around the bar. «I suppose not, if he took off so quickly. But do tell. I'm sure your afternoon had its charms.»

Erik traces his fingertip around the rim of his glass and looks pointedly at the men's room. Charles blinks at him, and Erik shrugs, smiling, licking his lips. «An older man, someone just passing through as well. He did buy me a drink, after.»

«How positively courtly of him.» Erik pushes an image of Tim to Charles, who closes his eyes for a moment to take in the mental picture. Charles opens his eyes again and looks up at Erik with a smile. «Balding, cleft chin... were you interested based on his mutations? How completely brilliant. I'm so glad _someone_ read my thesis and got something out of it. It always puts Raven to sleep.»

Erik doesn't even try to pretend innocence. Charles has seen Erik go off with far too many people for Erik's type to go unnoticed, and Erik's not going to let himself feel any sort of reproach for spending his spare time reading Charles's thesis... and applying some of its findings in a deeply personal way. He did, of course, get far more out of the thesis than an excuse to spend afternoon trysts with balding men, or women with dimples; not many people are digging deeply into the concept of human mutation, not like Charles, and Erik likes the idea of staying as informed as possible. It's fascinating watching his own species develop. Even the smallest mutations represent progress toward something better.

At any rate... «The cleft chin was delightful-- and felt even better when he had it tucked over my shoulder-- and there is something about bald or balding men, isn't there?» "Ah, there's your soup," he points out, as Angelo comes over with a bowl. "Thank you, Angelo."

"Thank you, yes," Charles adds aloud, tucking in. «If you say so. I favor MC1R myself, auburn hair.» He meets Erik's eyes in the mirror behind the bar, his gaze easy to trace as he glances at Erik's reddish-brown hair. «And more study's needed, but there's every indication blue eyes may well be a mutation, a quite widespread one, good old OCA2...»

There are times when Charles's flirtation is so blatant Erik can't possibly believe Charles means what he's saying. He flicks his eyes over Charles in an equally-mocking manner, grinning ear-to-ear. «Auburn hair and blue eyes. Really, you haven't had enough for one day?»

Charles purses his lips, blowing on a spoonful of soup as he meets Erik's eyes. He's showy about it as he takes the spoon into his mouth-- well, showy to Erik, perhaps, all too aware of Charles's lips wrapped around _metal_ now. The spoon slips out of his mouth, Charles's lips still tight against the stainless steel, and Erik shifts in his seat.

«Scandalous, isn't it?» Charles asks, lacing his thoughts with unconvincing innocence. «Especially considering those proportions. Almost unmanageable, really. But I'm afraid I was left a little wanting.»

Erik reaches over and squeezes Charles's shoulder. "Well, I think we can do something about that."

"Oh? What did you have--" Erik's already lifting his other hand, beckoning Angelo over once more. "--in mind, ah," Charles says softly, looking from Erik to Angelo. "Hello again."

Erik gives Angelo his second-best smile and nods down at Charles. "My friend's had a trying day. Maybe you could recommend a little something off the menu for him."

Eyeing Charles, smiling, Angelo nods with enthusiasm. "What's your pleasure?"

It takes a split-second for Charles's usual flirtatious grin to come into full force, which seems odd to Erik; Charles doesn't really have a type _per se_ , but he's never seemed averse to tall, dark, and handsome, which Angelo suits to a T. Auburn hair and blue eyes aside-- _auburn hair and blue eyes, Charles, honestly, if I didn't know better_ \-- Angelo's dark Italian good looks would surely do the trick for anyone, particularly Charles.

And there _is_ something satisfying about imagining Charles with someone Erik steered him toward. The two of them might not have much chemistry to speak of between them, but it doesn't mean Erik can't entertain fantasies now and then.

Charles is grinning at Angelo now, sending Erik a quick, «Is there a single straight person inside city limits? I love this town.» To Angelo, he says, "Try me. I have very catholic tastes."

Erik digs into his wallet and leaves some cash on the table; if things go well, Charles might be too distracted to remember, later on. "I've just remembered I left something important back in the room." He rests a hand on Charles's back, and smiles at Angelo. "Do make sure he gets back to me in one piece, will you." He sends to Charles, «No need to make promises on your end. I'll see you when you're all done here. By the way, agreeable as this afternoon was, I really cannot recommend the men's room. Perhaps the supply closet...»

«You're so good to me,» Charles sends back. As Erik turns to go, he can feel Angelo's eyes on him, and-- oddly, Charles's too.

"Man," Angelo says, _sotto voce_ but still easily within Erik's range of hearing, "too bad he's got a thing for older guys, huh?"

"Too bad for him," Charles says gaily.

"Definitely his loss. So you two aren't...?"

As Erik falls out of earshot, he hears Charles say, "Let's focus on we two, for a while."

-

Charles turns up at their motel room an hour later looking sleek and replete. His lovely mouth, even more absurdly red than before, spreads in a smile when he takes in the chess board already set up on the rickety table. Erik climbs off one of the two single beds and heads for the table, but Charles shakes his head, stopping him.

"I'd love a game, but do you mind if we go to dinner first? I know it's early, but I'm afraid Angelo's many talents didn't really extend to the kitchen. I hardly had a chance to eat, though it's just as well; I enjoyed the _spoon_ more than the soup." He raises his eyebrow and smirks; to think Erik had almost forgotten the way Charles's lips curved around that steel. Not that Charles means anything by it, Erik assumes. Charles's flirtation is as universal and indiscriminate as sunshine. "Anyway, given the choice between uncooked pasta versus the much more attractive distractions of the supply room... I'm starving."

Erik's already shrugging into his coat. "Where to?"

"I was thinking we could visit Montoni's. I thought of another tack to take with Freddie that might sway him to come back with us after all."

"Does this new tack involve going under his apron again?"

"As if you wouldn't volunteer," Charles teases. "No, it's only that I think I could emphasize a bit more that the others are younger and not quite so imperious as you."

Erik raises an eyebrow at that, though secretly he finds it rather satisfying. Back out to the parking lot, then, closing and locking the door with a lazy wave of his hand while Charles gestures up at Erik's face.

"There, you see? _That_ look," says Charles.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Erik answers, slipping behind the wheel and starting the car.

At Montoni's, Charles makes a point of opening the door for Erik, going so far as to give a little bow. "I'm given to understand that chivalrous gestures go a long way with you."

"You let one man buy you a drink and suddenly everyone's opening doors and pulling out chairs," Erik deadpans. "Next thing I know you'll be expecting me to save you all the polkas on my _ballspende."_

"The _what_ on your--" Charles flicks his gaze down Erik's front.

"Dance card," Erik translates quickly.

"Ah. No, as long as I get the last dance, you can polka, waltz, Lindy, and twist with whoever else you'd like. I might be cross if I don't get at least one of your shags in, though."

Erik almost trips over the little sign telling them to seat themselves. Small town; even here, in seemingly one of the nicer restaurants around, there seems to be little concept of a host or hostess. "If you don't-- what was that?"

"Carolina shag," Charles elaborates, smiling angelically. "Or there's a St. Louis variety, and one called the Collegiate shag. They're all variations on swing dancing, although it's speculated that the earliest version actually had its roots in the foxtrot--"

"There's an open booth over here," Erik says, reaching back and putting a hand on Charles's shoulder. It snaps him neatly out of his digression on dance history, and Erik guides him to a booth with a view of all the exits. He throws an arm across the back of the seat, glancing around for Freddie.

Only for Charles to slide in right next to Erik, fitting against him under the curve of his arm and flashing a grin at him. "Or should I sit _all_ the way over on the other side?"

«You're incorrigible,» Erik sends with amusement, though he sinks down slightly in the booth to make that much more contact with Charles, spreading his legs slightly so his thigh is pressed against Charles's from hip to knee. "Stay here if you want, I don't think I could stop you even if I wanted to."

Charles taps a finger against his temple and sighs. «I suppose we'd better not. Wouldn't want to frighten the horses.»

«I'd like to see anyone try to make a scene, between the two of us.»

Popping up, Charles switches to the other side of the booth, pausing before he sits to give a little wave. «Ah, there's Freddie.»

Erik sits upright and makes a bit less of a slouching spectacle of himself, turning to see Freddie; he lifts his hand in a wave as well, watching with an impassive expression as Freddie's expression goes flat.

Charles's smile fades as Freddie turns and stomps back into the kitchen. «I don't know why he's so sour, he had his out of me.» Erik snorts at that; Charles brings his fingers to his temple again. «Ah. He's not best pleased seeing me cozying up to you. I'll have to keep tabs on him to stop him spitting in the soup.» He glances at the menu. «Best bet's probably the lasagna, the chicken's not so fresh.»

The waiter saunters by. Erik passes an unimpressed eye over the wine list and orders crisply, "We'll both have the lasagna, and a bottle of the sangiovese." To Charles he resumes, «That is strange. Surely he wasn't expecting more? You said yourself he wasn't planning on joining us.»

«Some people seem to think it's bad taste to jump from one man to another on the same day.» Charles huffs a little laugh. «Little does he know.»

«It's too bad he thought I was intimidating, I'd love to see... certain aspects of his mutation. You've talked it up enough.»

«There's no talking that up 'enough', believe me. I'll never see the like again, and I think my jaw at least will be glad of that,» Charles grins, cheeky and guileless. "After all that, I'm looking forward to an evening in. I owe you for our last chess game. You came out of nowhere with that last advance."

"Oh, it's never out of nowhere, Charles. It's just a matter of timing." Erik smiles, glancing back over to the door to the kitchen; Freddie's coming out with an empty basin and a towel over his shoulder. «And speaking of, maybe now would be a good time to say hello. If he's going to be this distraught tomorrow anyway, maybe we can get it all over with tonight.»

A notion that seems better and better as Freddie clears a nearby table with unnecessary force and stomps back to the kitchen again.

"You're right, I'd better speak to him." Charles stands, his hand light on Erik's shoulder as he passes him. "Back in a tick."

Erik's thoughts turn to more serious matters on his own; he occupies himself with rehearsals for what might happen if the CIA compound back in Virginia came under attack, resolving to harden their defenses after they return from this trip. They can't rely on all those humans for protection when the battle lines are liable to be redrawn at any moment to a struggle of human against mutant.

Not that he expects Charles to agree to that, with his strange faith that humans will accept them in time. Erik is mystified that someone who can read minds can be so naive, when Erik himself doesn't need telepathy to see the glint of acquisition in the division head's eyes.

Suddenly Charles sends to him, «Could you settle the bill and come out to the car please? Quick as you can?»

«Of course. Is something the matter?» Erik signals the waiter and cancels their order, and the waiter gives him no trouble over it. Erik replies to Charles with a bit of a smirk, «Are your trousers ruined? ...Again?»

«After a fashion.» Charles seems to be trying to send the words untainted by any emotion, but there's a wrapper of panic around his reply.

Much more intent now, Erik heads for the car, projecting, «Did he hurt you? How did he hurt you? I will--» _fucking kill him_ , he struggles not to send. Charles is capable of protecting himself, and Erik knows it, but the thought of anyone putting hands on Charles that weren't invited-- the fury must be bleeding over in his thoughts, and he does his best to moderate it. He finishes that sentence with, «make him regret it, what happened? _Tell me._ »

«It was an accident. I read his mind, he didn't mean to do anything. Just come out, please? I need to get back to the hotel and I think you ought to drive.»

Erik yanks open the car door, gets in and looks toward Charles. " _What?_ What hap--" He stops short, reaching out without even thinking about it, because... _there's something on Charles's head._ A hat of some kind... some odd triangular lumps causing his hair to stand up... but no, it's clear that the two unfamiliar objects on Charles's head are a part of him, twitching with his discomfort. Erik does his best to take one in hand, but it only brushes softly against his palm, rotating away, flattening down against its base.

"Careful, careful," Charles ducks from under the touch with an anxious motion of his... tail.

"Charles, what on _earth--"_ Erik reaches out and grabs Charles's tail in his hand: it's real, undeniable, a warm living length covered in silky fur.

"Ow! Gently, please, that's attached to me," says Charles, and he puts his face in his hands. "Oh God. It really is attached to me, so are the ears... this can't be happening."

Erik immediately lets go, sitting partway back against the car door to take a more detailed appraisal of Charles's new... attributes. "You have ears... like a cat. And a tail." It flicks at him, brushing against the back of his hand; Erik resists the temptation to catch it in his hand again, let it flick itself free of the slight constriction and whip through his fingers. "Also like a cat." He stares at Charles, eyebrows raised. "You didn't ask him to enhance your--" he clears his throat delicately-- "and get this instead, did you?"

Charles's head snaps up, and he glares at Erik. "I don't need any _enhancement_ , thank you!"

It might be just Erik's imagination, but the sibilant sound in _enhancement_ nearly reminds him of a hiss. He shrugs, desperately reaching for normalcy. "Well, you needn't be touchy about it, you know very well I don't have firsthand experience..."

Still looking at him stonily, Charles crosses his arms over his chest. His ears-- his _cat's ears_ \-- are nearly flattened down against his head now, and his eyes are narrowed; he looks a bit like an antique shop owner's cat he once knew, one who used to narrow her eyes and lay her ears back before pouncing and clawing at lingering browsers who never intended to buy. The expression is so catlike-- and yet seems so ordinary and natural on Charles's face right now-- that Erik actually finds himself blinking at Charles, fixing on him in something like wonder. Has his hair _always_ looked so soft...? Erik's a little spellbound by this entire display: the twitching tail and the soft, velvety ears-- his hand nearly itches with the memory of touching one of them, even so briefly.

He pulls himself out of his stunned state, shaking his head and coughing lightly. "We'd better get back to the motel."

"Yes, please," Charles says. "What am I going to do about this?" He raises both hands to his ears and pats them down, strokes up and down their lengths, as if trying to get a sense of how big they are. They're a good three inches tall, perfectly proportioned and-- Erik can't help looking at them again, as he starts the car-- quite beautiful.

"As for how it happened, you'll be amused, I expect," Charles goes on. Erik puts his mind to driving, stretching his arm behind Charles's seat to back out of the parking space and pull them out of the lot. "Freddie accused me of cheating on _you_ with him. He asked me earlier if I was with you, I _told_ him no. But when he saw us again at the restaurant he believed I'd been lying and I stepped out on you with him, and as he's terrified of you, he was enormously upset with me... he was squeezing my wrist and making some remark about 'catting around' and-- well." Charles's ears... flick. "I suppose he made a wish."

Erik brakes, suddenly, a block away from the restaurant. "Should I go and get him, can he undo this?"

Charles sighs, rubbing at his forehead and then his cheeks with quick little strokes. "He panicked and ran, and I was a bit busy getting out of sight to deal with him."

"Ran where? If he's left town--"

Shaking his head impatiently, Charles finishes sweeping at his face and suddenly stares at his hands, as if wondering what he was just doing. "I read it off him, he was heading back home, he has no place else to go," he says. "We can sort that later. For now I just want to get somewhere safe to look at the damage."

It's the first time Erik's realized that such a dramatic change could actually be seen as _damage;_ he's been so busy trying not to think about how badly he wants to touch Charles's cat ears again that it hadn't occurred to him that Charles would be so very much less than delighted with the change.

But of course he would; Charles has always had an appearance that lets him blend in with the humans, has always felt a desire-- baffling to Erik-- to fit in with their ilk. An obvious physical difference won't make him appreciate his mutation that much more. _Any more than it does for Hank_ , Erik thinks with regret.

He can't help reassuring Charles, "You don't look damaged." But in deference to Charles's obvious distress, Erik drives a little faster than he ordinarily might, deftly avoiding the three or so other cars they pass on the metropolitan streets of Rayville. Once they're back at the motel, he glances around for other people, and seeing no one, he nods to Charles. "Quickly, then?"

Charles takes a deep breath and looks around him, down at the seat. He catches up his tail in both his hands. "I really don't want to find out what happens if this gets stuck in a door somewhere," he mutters.

"I'll get the door. Just head for the room."

Nodding, Charles climbs out of the car, tail twitching against even his own grip. It tugs and pulls at the back of his jacket, leaving it rucked up against the small of his back, where Charles's tail emerges from the top of his trousers. Erik shakes his head-- _staring again, Lehnsherr_ \-- and with Charles and his tail safely out of harm's way, he shuts both car doors and locks them, then quickly catches up to Charles, who's nearly at the motel room door now. Erik flicks the door open with a gesture, and Charles sends him a «Thank you» in return, slipping inside.

Charles doesn't waste any time, heading for the bathroom and gaping at himself in the mirror. Erik joins him, seeing the changes in full light at last.

Two peaked cat ears jut up from Charles's head, lined with short fur the same color as his hair. The long tail sweeps back and forth furiously behind him.

It's no joke. This is _real_ , these new body parts-- and they're a violation of who Charles really is, something that could genuinely be _dangerous_ to him. Certainly he can't leave the motel room without drawing stares at best, and how long might this last?

All the same...

He's _breathtaking_.

The ears and tail aren't like a costume; they're clearly integrated into Charles's body, the tail taking on nearly a life of its own, the ears turning at the slightest noise and moving to suggest hints about Charles's understandably-volatile emotional state. The fur looks as soft as Erik remembers it feeling under his hand, and he's never wanted to touch Charles so badly as he does right now. Angry as he is about this attack on his closest friend-- he's also struggling with plain, naked arousal, attraction wrapping itself around him like... like a strong, silken tail.

Charles's reaction is profoundly different, of course. He stares into the mirror and frowns, eyes following the arch of one ear. He reaches up for it, not quite touching the tip, and squints to the left as if trying to move the ear on purpose-- and both ears twitch. "Oh God," Charles groans. He steeples his hands over his mouth and nose; the ears lay back, not a purposeful gesture this time, just an automatic distressed reaction.

"I'll get him. I'll bring him back here and get him to fix this." Erik dodges as Charles's tail whips up between them, moving back and forth and back and forth and... he is much, much too close to Charles for that to be acceptable.

"I'm so sorry," says Charles, "I don't quite seem to be able to control that, yet--" with a frustrated little growl he grabs hold of the wildly swaying length, and stares at it once he has it in his hands. "I have a _tail."_

This is awful, whether it's a punishment or a practical joke, and it should not be having this effect on Erik. But Charles has never looked quite so irresistible. "You have a tail." Erik clears his throat. "You didn't answer me before. Freddie-- can he undo this?"

"He said no, he said--" Charles rubs his temples. "I don't know, I was reading him to try to get a notion, and all I got was that he didn't mean to do this and he was sorry, though he also thought I'd earned it. It was completely mixed up in his head."

Erik exhales harshly in frustration. "That's absurd, that's completely unfair-- what on _Earth--"_ He puts his hands on Charles's shoulders, holding tightly. "This is not your fault, and you certainly didn't 'earn' it. It's a damn good thing he doesn't want to join us."

"On the contrary, now I particularly wish he would!" Charles answers. "I'm sure if I worked with him I could help him control his ability better, and from the mess in his head when I read his mind, this isn't the first time this has happened. Imagine if he did something like this to an ordinary human!"

"I don't care who else he's done this to, he did it to _you!"_ says Erik, his voice a snarl. "You can be impressed with his mutation all you like, but this isn't something simple or harmless. What he's done to you-- you can't seriously mean to forgive this."

"We'll speak to him. I'll try to persuade him to let me guide his ability with mine, to reverse this. I'm sure it's possible." Charles glances again at the mirror with huge eyes. "It must be."

For the first time, Erik considers Charles and tries to imagine what it will be like if this new alteration is a permanent one. He's not pleased with how strongly his body reacts to that idea; this is not something Charles _is_ , not something Charles _chose_. This has been _forced_ on him, and it says particularly unflattering things about Erik if he's actually enjoying the results.

Still, the question needs to be asked. "If it isn't something Freddie can reverse...?"

Charles turns those enormous eyes on Erik, and then at his tail. He's been wringing it in his hands, and it's ruffled; he smooths the fur down. "I'll deal with that when I come to it. For now, I'm going to need a hat and a longer coat if I'm to leave this room."

Erik nods. The practicalities are making this all seem more real. A hat. A longer coat. Hiding what's become of him. It occurs to him he's been nodding for a while, and he finally murmurs, "That will have to wait til morning." He looks at Charles again, watching the ears twitch, the tail swish back and forth. "Charles-- does it hurt? Are you all right, other than the obvious?"

"It doesn't hurt, no," Charles musters an attempt at a smile. "It feels very, very strange, but… it's not unpleasant."

Not unpleasant. Erik wonders how sensitive the new body parts are. The ears especially look so delicate, yet touchable, the thin skin almost translucent in the harsh light of the bathroom. The tail sweeps the floor; it's so long, and when Erik caught it briefly in his hand earlier, it felt surprisingly strong and utterly, shockingly alive. He needs to touch it again, he needs to know just how powerful it may be, how flexible. He needs to stroke the ears and find out how far the effect extends, if Charles is now inclined to purr.

He needs to get out of the motel room.

"Where is Freddie?" Erik demands.

Charles taps his temple. "Home. He expects us to come after him, he's resigned to it; I don't think he'll give you any trouble."

"Let him try," says Erik, and sets out.


	2. On a Hot Tin Roof

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "This isn't going away tonight, is it?"

By the time Erik drives across Rayville and arrives at Freddie's house, his anger is honed sharp and purposeful. He pulls in front of the white house with green shutters and parks across the lawn, leaves the car running as he gets out and throws his awareness ahead of him, finding all the metal in the vicinity-- toolshed, wiring, pipes, Freddie's car-- enough to bring a small army to heel, certainly enough to snare a single mutant.

And he will if he has to. Freddie transformed Charles's body to look visibly and obviously different. As sightly as the change may have been, it put Charles in terrible danger from humans-- and once it was done, Freddie ran and _left_ him there.

Erik doesn't bother to knock, just flings open the door with his power and walks in.

It's too much, he sees at once. Freddie is scrambling up from a chair near the door, stumbling over his packed knapsack. He was prepared to leave before Erik ever arrived, but now he looks ready to bolt after all, eyes flying to the exits.

Erik's instinct is to block every door with pipes torn from the walls and drag Freddie to him by his belt and the eyelets of his work boots. But he manages to catch himself. Freddie isn't an accomplice to Shaw, he's not an escaped war criminal. He's a frightened young man, one of their own kind. He's never been able to reveal his powers or practice them. Of course he was confused and distraught.

 _What would Charles do,_ Erik wonders. Gentle persuasion, probably, and failing that, a nudge with his ability. Erik's not a particularly gentle man, but he's going to have to find reserves, it appears.

"Calm down," he says. He's trying to modulate it, make it sound less like an order, but he's not so sure he manages. "I'm not here to hurt you."

That doesn't seem to help, either. "I didn't mean to," Freddie stammers. "I mean, if I'd known in the first place, I wouldn't have touched him--"

Tempted as he is to rub at his forehead-- a headache seems inevitable at this point-- Erik does his best to remain calm, keep his arms at his sides, stay loose instead of tense. "Charles told me about your-- misunderstanding," he tries, diplomatically. "But you understand there are repercussions to what you did."

Wrong choice of words. Freddie backs away a step. "You said you weren't going to hurt me--"

"For _Charles_ ," Erik says wearily, "repercussions for _Charles."_

That stops Freddie in his tracks, thankfully. "Is... is he all right?"

 _If he weren't, we wouldn't be having a conversation._ Erik barely manages to rein in that statement. "For now he's unharmed-- more or less. You saw the change...?"

Freddie bites his lip and nods, looking miserable. "I... I didn't mean to..."

 _Gently, now. Gently..._ "He knows that," Erik says. _Careful..._ "But he also believes that the two of you, together, can unmake what you did."

"I don't know." Freddie glances around the room again, eyes flicking to the doors, even the window. "I never have before..."

Rage bubbles up in Erik again, and this time some of it escapes before he can grasp at it and shove it back down. "You mean to say he'll be like that _permanently_ \--"

"No! No, no--" Freddie's voice is reaching for a higher register. "No, but, whenever I've been mad at somebody and made a wish before, it just... wore off."

 _Wore off._ Erik frowns. "Freddie," he tries again, "You need to come back to the motel with me. Charles is alone and frightened, and I've no intention of leaving him there much longer. If there's anything you can do, we'll explore it together, the three of us, but you are not abandoning him to this change of yours." He stares hard at Freddie. "Are you?"

Freddie droops, shaking his head. "No," he mutters.

"Good." Erik nods down at his knapsack. "You have enough there for a few days?"

Freddie looks back up at him, wide-eyed all over again. "I--"

It's as good as a yes, and besides which, if Erik has to go out for clothes for Charles anyway, he can pick up whatever Freddie needs-- once Freddie's secured in their motel room.

"Come on," Erik says, force behind the words, and Freddie gulps and nods, following him out to the car.

-

Back at the motel, Erik guides Freddie upstairs, stopping just short of taking him by the arm or grabbing up a fistful of his shirt. Freddie no longer looks inclined to run; by now he seems resigned to seeing this through, and that's a good thing, at least.

«Charles? It's me, and I've brought our friend,» Erik sends, before opening the door with his power and guiding Freddie inside. Freddie looks around quickly, eyes darting to the four corners of the room, and catches sight of Charles, curled up in bed, only just now beginning to push himself upright and blink the sleep out of his eyes.

"Freddie," Charles says gently. He stifles a yawn behind the back of one hand and then draws that hand carefully across his cheek. Erik lifts an eyebrow.

«Napping?»

«I was tired,» Charles responds with a frown. "I'm glad to see you," he continues, coming off the bed and walking over to Freddie. "I'm afraid you've left me in a bit of a fix."

Freddie fidgets, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He finally puts his knapsack down on the floor. "Sorry," he mumbles. He shoots a glance at Erik and says, louder, "I'm really, _really_ sorry."

"Thank you," Charles says. "Now, if we can move on to more productive ends-- I sensed from you at the restaurant that this has happened before. I'd like you to tell me about it, please."

Erik takes a seat at the table, chessboard still in place there. Freddie hesitates until Charles waves him into the other chair and sits near him on the second twin bed, catching his tail in his hands and arranging it in a neat curl over his thighs.

"I never meant to do anything to anybody," says Freddie, painfully sincere.

"Of course not," Charles soothes. "But something happened..."

"When it happened before... there was a bully at my school, and he was bothering me, making fun of my bad skin... I had real bad skin then," Freddie says. "And I wished he'd get a big carbuncle right on the end of his nose so he'd know how it felt. And he did, and at first it just made him meaner, and that thing stayed and stayed on his nose. But he learned his lesson I guess. He got less mean. And it went away."

Erik exchanges looks with Charles; predictably, Charles appears distraught, whether at the violence done to the undeserving human brute or at the fact that Freddie might've been detected. Erik, for his part, can't help but approve of this use of Freddie's ability: forcefully demonstrating to a human how his behavior ought to change seems more than reasonable.

At least until he looks back at Charles-- Charles, who's _not_ a human, and whose behavior ought never to have gotten him into this. _Catting around,_ Erik can't help thinking. All right, they are a bit bohemian, and perhaps a bit too much for the local morés of Rayville, but all the same...

"And-- and the other time it was my Aunt Opal," Freddie confesses. "She insulted my mother, she was always running people down. And I wished her mouth would swell up so she couldn't talk so easy anymore. And it did, and it wasn't til she stopped being so nasty that it went back to normal."

"I see," says Charles. "So in both cases your 'wish' represented a sort of retribution." He indicates himself, the sloped-down ears and the length of tail coiled in his lap. "What am I being punished for?"

Freddie cringes a little, avoiding looking at Erik. "I told you already."

"I need to know what you were thinking, Freddie," Charles insists. "You must tell me how I can fix this."

"I was thinking you lied to me and cheated on your man," Freddie mumbles. "So if I had to guess, I'd say you have to keep yourself to yourself for a while, and maybe then it'll all go away."

"I'm not 'his man,'" Erik says firmly, "so if you wished him a tail to punish him for that, you can just stop this right away and wish it gone again. Now."

"I'm not doing anything!" Freddie implores with wide liquid brown eyes like a misbehaving puppy.

Charles sets his fingers to his temple and gazes intently at Freddie, the sober effect rather ruined by the pricked and quivering cat ears atop his head. He throws Erik a quick look and a shake of his head; Freddie really isn't exerting any power to keep Charles this way.

"Freddie, if you'll permit it, I'd like to try to help you concentrate." Charles taps his fingers illustratively. "Perhaps together we could resolve this."

"By reading my mind?" Freddie cringes, but he looks from Erik to Charles and sighs. "What should I do?"

-

Charles and Freddie work at the problem long enough that Erik gets restless; he goes outside and paces back and forth in front of the door like a sentry.

«You can come back, we're giving up for now,» Charles sends, and Erik buries the twinge of relief and simple lust he feels as he comes back into the room and sees Charles still adorned with ears and tail. Apart from those new attributes, Charles seems fine, although Freddie appears to be drooping a bit-- his eyes are heavy-lidded, his shoulders slumped.

"It appears I may have to take the long route," Charles says. "And-- how did you put it, Freddie? Keep myself to myself?"

"Are you saying no one can touch him, and then this will go away?" Erik asks, momentarily alarmed-- Charles isn't exactly reticent with his touches, and the sheer number of times in an ordinary day that Erik reaches over to sweep his hand down Charles's arm or settles his hand on Charles's lower back-- and then there are things like settling into a booth together at a restaurant, sharing the back of a taxicab, the time Charles absconded with the car keys and a small wrestle was needed to get them back.

Well, not needed, obviously; Erik could have drawn the keys out of Charles's jacket pocket with his ability easily enough. But it was more _fun_ to stand there with his arms wrapped around Charles from behind, listening to Charles's breathing change as he slipped a hand inside Charles's jacket. And now, with the ears and tail...

"Nothing to do with just touching, probably. Just, you know." Freddie colors a little. " _You_ know."

Erik's expression darkens. "Your moral inhibitions notwithstanding, I'm amazed no one's ever strung you up by your thumbs before." He is tempted. He is _severely_ tempted. But Charles shoots him a quick look, one that communicates _not now_ without even using telepathy, and Erik shuts his mouth, clamping his teeth together as he crosses his arms over his chest.

Freddie shows a hint of spine at last, jaw firming, shoulders squaring. "It's not like I do it to lots of people, it only happened these three times now. And only when I really thought people were doing wrong. I _asked_ him about you and he said, no, don't worry, but I saw you in the restaurant with your arm around him and him looking at you like that..."

"You misunderstood," Charles says sharply.

Erik shifts uncomfortably. "He's right. It's not what you're thinking. We're not," he struggles for words, "not... we aren't--" Charles's tail twitches, and Charles catches it up in both hands. Erik sighs. "We're friends. That's all." He glances at Charles a moment longer, gaze lingering on the soft chestnut points of his feline ears. "And even if it were more than that..." He thinks back to the compound, to Hank and Raven and a night when he'd said _I wouldn't change a thing_ , when Raven had come charging after him to ask what he meant, Hank's eyes wide behind his glasses. Still and all, Charles fits neatly into Erik's side in restaurant booths, flirts shamelessly as they make their assignations and trade stories with one another. "Even _if_... we're not the sort to limit each other. Not that way."

Charles's eyes have narrowed slightly, but he shakes his head as he looks back to Freddie, whose expression hasn't changed much.

"'Limit each other that way.' Huh!" Freddie sits back in his chair, looking obstinate. He has to blink a few times, though, the energy seeming to leach out of him again. "Maybe that's how they behave in New York City..."

Charles cuts in, not unkind but firm as he says, "Freddie, considering some of the other uses to which you've put your mutation, I don't see that you have much room to judge."

Freddie pinks up at that.

«Are we getting anywhere with him at all?» Erik sends.

«We can't really have expected him to embrace free love at the drop of a hat. He's a product of his time and place just like anyone else.»

The gentle approach does seem to have been more effective than Erik's typical, more confrontational tactics, though. Erik manages to repress most of his frustration as he adds, "No one's judging your feelings. But we need to put them to better ends. Your frustration could find another outlet."

Charles looks at Erik, startled. «That was quite compassionate. Don't tell me I've started to get through to you!»

Slanting a look back at Charles, Erik responds, «I don't lack compassion for _others of our kind._ When warranted.»

«Ah. Of course.» Charles turns back to Freddie. "I think if you were to work at it, you could gain control over your ability to change bodies."

"But it's only happened when I'm really angry or-- you know, the, the one I did to me," Freddie colors further, and buries a yawn behind his hand. "I just... wished. I never thought it was coming from me." He looks helplessly to Charles. "You told me it was... a power? Something I can do? But..." He shakes his head again. "I only felt it in a big burst at first, when I was really upset. I don't feel like I'm doing anything now. I'm just tired."

«"Really upset"? Oh, dear,» Erik thinks, eyeing Charles's ears. «This isn't going away tonight, is it?»

«You heard him,» Charles projects, the cat ears sloping downward. «I'll have to abide by his moral compunctions for who knows how long before it'll fade.»

«I think you'll survive,» Erik answers, but he's struck by the notion. «I _think_ you'll survive... have you _ever_ had an extended period of celibacy?»

«I don't suppose the first fourteen years count.»

Erik rolls his eyes.

«When I was working on my thesis, I went quite a long-- hm, no, I suppose there was-- well, I went on a trip once... oh, but actually...»

«I'm not one to talk, I admit.» Charles lifts an eyebrow, left ear swiveling toward him-- which makes Erik wonder how the feline ears respond to thought. Do they focus directionally...? They might respond to where Charles directs his attention. «Even in Argentina there were men for hire, to say nothing of Geneva,» Erik explains, flashing Charles an instant of his memory: an older man taking his leave of Erik's hotel room, slipping away while Erik drew on a plush black bathrobe.

Charles smirks for the barest fraction of a moment; in that brief instant, sharing memories, teasing with the glimpse of something vaguely illicit, everything seems normal. _And isn't_ , Erik reminds himself, the sudden sobriety bleeding over to Charles as well-- the smirk slips off his face.

Fortunately, the speed of thought means they haven't been silent long before Charles resumes with, "Freddie, just how long would you say it took those conditions to fade once you thought those people learned their lessons?"

"Wasn't too awful long," says Freddie. He smothers a yawn again. "Three or four weeks I guess, maybe."

« _Three or four weeks?_ » Erik thinks with such blaring vehemence that Charles's new ears twitch.

«Calm, please! I'm sure it won't be as hard as all that.»

Erik breathes roughly through his nose, fighting not to let Freddie see how angry he is-- and more importantly, struggling to ensure Charles isn't reading any more than the thoughts he's projecting. It would have been difficult enough maintaining a distance from Charles as he was, when they're so accustomed to familiarity. To go three or four weeks with Charles _this_ way, ears curving and turning toward him when he speaks, tail swishing through the air... «I'm _calm._ Does this not seem _calm_ to you? Because I am completely calm. You'll note I'm not doing anything violent.»

«I appreciate that, yes, thank you,» Charles sends with faint sarcasm. To Freddie, he says, "That doesn't seem like a very long while to you? It's rather a long time to have _cat ears,_ wouldn't you say? I can't go out of doors."

"I didn't do it on purpose!" Freddie sags further.

"No, I know that, but surely you have some control over the duration."

"It might take... forgiveness?" Erik's quite aware of the irony, it's not as if he's especially conversant with absolution, but he goes on, "Now that you understand you were mistaken about-- our relationship, perhaps you could forgive Charles for being as... demonstrative as he is."

Freddie looks at Charles for several long seconds, biting his lower lip, eyes narrowing in focus... and then shakes his head. "I don't think so. I promise I'm not doing anything to keep it up. I always thought of it as wishes, I never felt like I was making anything stay that way."

Charles sighs. "Freddie, I know you didn't want to come back with us before, but considering the circumstances, I really must ask you to reconsider. If this doesn't reverse itself, we'll need to work with you to fix things."

It's a good idea. If anyone can figure this out, it's Charles and Hank, working together. But Freddie doesn't seem especially enthused about the prospect; he's already flinching back in his chair, beginning to look alarmed. "What if... what if you just came back here?"

"I don't think I'm going to want to travel much while I'm like this, if you don't mind."

The politeness is wearing on Erik; he turns the full force of a glare on Freddie, whose shoulders tighten almost immediately. "You've done enough damage, perhaps you'd like to make up for that now. Before anyone gets irreversibly cross with you."

Freddie looks from Erik to Charles, as if hoping he'll get some assistance there. Charles is silent, though, his tail stirring, fur rumpling as he attempts to hold it still with his hands.

And finally Freddie slumps, nodding. "Okay. I'll give my notice at the restaurant first thing."

That, at least, is a fear Charles can rectify: "It's still a job you'll be doing with us, Freddie. You'll be paid, and I'm sure we can help you find another situation if you choose to leave us once this is resolved."

"Yeah. Thanks," Freddie mumbles. "I guess." He raises his eyebrows. "Is everybody in your, uh... team... are they all like you two?"

"Most of them are younger," Charles offers, "and their powers are all rather different, all unique. I'm sure you'll get on splendidly with the rest of them."

It seems to calm Freddie down somewhat-- in fact, he's beginning to look more than calm, he's beginning to look exhausted. He stifles another yawn behind one hand. "Sorry," he says. "Just... after... I guess it's starting to hit me." He nods at Charles's ears, his tail. "The other times, I just felt worn out for a while, but now..."

"Perhaps we'd better get you into bed," Charles says. Erik stands up, but Freddie pushes quickly away from the table, heading for the free bed and taking a seat at the foot of it. He unties his shoes and sets them aside, and then he crawls up the length of the bed, grabbing a pillow and falling almost immediately to sleep.

Erik stands and looks down at him, staring for several long moments before a soft trilling noise from Charles draws his attention. Charles looks as surprised as Erik, sitting bolt upright and patting down his chest. "Sorry," Charles says quietly, "I don't know what-- well." He rubs at the back of his neck. "I wondered what you were thinking."

"That it's an extraordinary power. You were right about that." Erik shakes his head, but Charles has gone quiet again, frowning. Erik comes over to the bed beside him, taking a seat-- not as closely as he otherwise might have, Freddie's apprehension about people touching Charles still too clear in his mind. "What is it?"

"We can't go back to the CIA," Charles says.

Erik looks at Charles's feline ears and arches an eyebrow. "Don't tell me you're just now realizing that."

"I've been slightly preoccupied," frowns Charles. "I can't keep a hat on all the time, and I can only project illusions to so many people at once. They scarcely take me seriously as it is. I can't imagine how they'll react to this."

Erik says dryly, "Your personal prestige aside... they haven't figured out how to use the rest of us as weapons, since they can't be certain of controlling us. But if Freddie can change people's bodies, they'll want him to alter their agents and soldiers."

Charles's ears lay back, his brows knitting. "You have a point," he admits. "So there are more reasons than the obvious to avoid going back."

"We'll have to find someplace else to accommodate us all discreetly," Erik frowns.

"That's already sorted," Charles says. "I have just the place."

"You'll need to come up with a reason to leave the CIA, though. _If_ they let you go."

"Not necessarily," Charles says. "There's already conflict within the CIA over who has jurisdiction over us. They're letting Division X have their head with us for now, but if it looked as though Stryker had us transferred, we could easily seem to disappear into the bureaucracy for quite some time before our benefactor realizes we've left the agency altogether. I should phone Raven, yes?"

It seems to be a rhetorical question, as Charles is already reaching for the telephone. "Is Raven Xavier available?" Charles asks, and waits. "Ah. Could you take a message for her, then? Tell her my suitcase was stolen and I'm hoping she won't mind replacing my umbrella while I'm gone. Cheers."

"Not the subtlest code I've ever heard," says Erik as Charles hangs up the phone.

"It could be worse," Charles shrugs. "She tried to get me to go for 'the eagle flies at midnight.'"

It's twenty minutes before Raven returns the call. Charles stays cautious, telling her only that they've "suffered some setbacks" and the others should "sit tight and wait for us."

"Which means what, exactly?" Erik asks.

"It means Raven will impersonate one of Stryker's functionaries, and sign them out of the compound," says Charles.

"You really believe it will be that easy?"

"I believe it might be, since," Charles taps his temple, "I read them for their procedures, so Raven knows just what to do. We already prepared the paperwork in case we needed to leave quickly."

Erik's brows climb. "And you didn't mention these contingency plans to me because..."

"I suspected the conversation would degenerate rather quickly," Charles says. "They tend to, when we talk about dealing with-- anyone outside our immediate circle."

It's a bit galling, but Erik can hardly deny it. Still, "I wouldn't count on this plan coming off. They know what you can do, and Raven. They'd be fools not to anticipate something like this."

"Not fools, exactly," Charles replies. "I'm finding that people, ordinary humans especially, don't think about the implications of my abilities very much. The idea of someone reading their minds is so disturbing to them, they seem to just avoid engaging with the idea altogether."

"A few papers, some impersonation, and you think the CIA is going to just let a group of unsecured young mutants free?"

"It should work; and if it doesn't, well. If our fellow mutants want to leave, I wouldn't bet on anyone who tries to stop them," says Charles. "Would you?"

Erik has to smile at him for that, and after a moment Charles smiles back, a little rueful, but genuine enough.

"Anyway, they'll make their move once we're nearer to Virginia, so if necessary I can go smooth any ruffled feathers," Charles adds.

"And failing that, chew on them," Erik adds, looking pointedly at Charles's ears, and then his mouth. "Is it my imagination or are your cuspids a bit longer than they were?"

"Are they?" Charles's eyes round, and he opens his mouth, touching the pad of his thumb to the point of an eyetooth, his brows cinching in worry. "Ow." He withdraws his hand and shakes it out. "I think you're right... they feel sharper."

"You're not bleeding, are you?"

"No," Charles shows his thumb; there's a pink scrape but no blood. "I'll need to be careful not to bite my lip, though, it feels as if I could do myself some damage."

"It _would_ be tragic having any harm come to those lips," Erik says without thinking. Charles's ears perk up and swivel toward him, one eyebrow lifted slightly, and Erik stumbles back out of the statement as quickly as possible. "You're going to be uncomfortable enough for the next three or four weeks, why compound it?"

"I take your point," Charles says, morose again. His ears are flattening down against the top of his head, and he reaches up with one hand. "Maybe if I could get the hang of laying them back all the time... do they blend in with my hair at all? If I comb it over them, maybe?"

In the car Erik had thought for an instant that Charles had perhaps ended up so thoroughly mussed that his hair had formed peaks, but that was in the dark of night, with shadows from the car covering him and Erik's worry and concern drowning out all rational thought. In broad daylight... "They're feline ears, Charles," Erik says, trying for gentleness again. "I'm afraid they don't blend in the slightest."

One ear is already coming up, no longer flattened by any automatic reaction, and Charles doesn't seem to have the knack of moving them where he likes... if he can even develop that ability. The ears and tail may be unruly for the duration. "No, I don't suppose they would," Charles says glumly. "Maybe if I wore a wig over them. Hank did want me to shave my head anyway..."

Erik barely stifles a grimace at the thought. Instead, he reaches up, tentative, but when Charles doesn't pull away, he brushes his fingertips lightly over the soft fur of one ear. The feline ears are so warm; Erik wasn't expecting that. "On the bright side," he murmurs, smiling-- a little levity might not go amiss just now-- "they are quite fetching."

It seems that was just the wrong approach; Charles snorts and narrows his eyes. "Thank you for that," he mutters. The ear beneath Erik's hand flicks against Erik's palm, and Erik's mouth goes a little dry; he'll be remembering that sensation later, remembering it vividly. He takes his hand back just as Charles adds, "On top of all this, I'm _still_ starving. Does anywhere around here do takeaways?" His nose wrinkles and his lips tighten for a moment, but he adds, "It's probably psychosomatic, but I'd quite like some fish..."

Erik can't help but laugh at that. Charles gives him a skeptical look, but Erik only shakes his head. "I don't know if that's psychosomatic or if you've simply been away from England for too long. We'll see if I can turn up a place that does fish and chips, how about that?"

Relaxing again, Charles nods, and in a few minutes Erik's bustled out of the room, leaving Charles and their sleeping young friend on their own.

It takes a few stops before Erik can find what he's looking for. The menswear stores in Rayville are all closed for the night, but he spots a likely-looking one that opens at seven; he commits the name and location to memory. Food and drink are easier to come by, which is welcome. A drink sounds fantastic at this point in the day, and he can't help but think Charles would like one as well. He's not taking home what passes for beer, though, so it'll have to be martinis... and as he curves his fingers around the bottle, he has an absurd moment of wondering whether Charles might prefer a dish of cream. He did ask for the fish, after all.

 _Stop that,_ he thinks. Picturing Charles on the floor, lapping at a saucer, ears twitching, tail curving up along his side-- this is becoming less and less acceptable by the moment. He takes a deep breath, nostrils flaring a bit as he lets it out... and finds himself carrying Kahlua and cream to the counter along with his vodka and vermouth. Charles likes White Russians; maybe he'll like them more now. That's all Erik's thinking.

He comes back, having successfully found fish and chips, and easily handles both paper sacks, letting himself in with a quick mental greeting to let Charles know it's only him.

Charles tears into the bags as if he is, indeed, starving, and he beams at the selection of drinks Erik's brought, his tail curling high in a happy curve. "Some of my favorite things! I love White Russians."

"Yes, I believe those two ice skaters back in New York would attest to that," Erik says, smiling. Charles tosses him a saucy grin, so much like _before_ that Erik finds himself moving closer, standing near enough to touch. "I've got the makings of a martini here myself; why don't you look into the food while I mix our drinks?"

"Excellent, I hate to drink alone." Charles slides even closer, hip pressed briefly to Erik's as he reaches across the table for the bag from the fish-and-chips place; he pulls grease-stained paper baskets out and sets them at opposite sides of the table, carefully taking a seat, checking behind himself first. "Slats," Charles mutters, "those are strangely inconvenient when one is trying to get up quickly under these circumstances..."

"Are you all right?" Erik immediately asks, trying to crane his head around to look at Charles's tail. "You didn't hurt yourself...?"

"No, I'm fine," Charles dismisses, attention much more on the food now. "This smells so good! Of course I'm obliged by blood to love fish and chips. Don't suppose the chip shop had mushy peas." He looks up hopefully.

Erik laughs. "You should have told me. I might have asked at the counter." The cocktails mixed, Erik pushes the White Russian to Charles and settles down opposite him with his martini. There's a basket of fish and chips for him as well; no vinegar, alas, and the tartar sauce had seemed like something Charles would simply roll his eyes at, so Erik didn't bother. "Is it all right as it is?"

"Quite all right, this is plenty, look at all this." He glances behind him at the lamp. "A bit dim, though, why don't I just turn the light on while we're--"

"Wait, no-- before you do that--" Erik gestures to the drapes, easing them closed with a light tug on the metal pins binding them to the track. When he turns back to Charles, Charles's tail has gone down, his ears flattening again. "I'm sorry," Erik offers. "You can see into the room very well with the lights all the way up like that."

"Oh... of course, thank you." Charles eats for a while, licking delicately at his fingertips between bites. It's horribly distracting, not like sharing a meal with Charles normally is; the quick rasp of Charles's tongue over the pad of his thumb makes Erik shift uncomfortably in his chair. Fortunately, Charles is too preoccupied to notice.

"Raven's going to laugh," he murmurs, subdued.

Erik sobers, straightening as he forces his attention off his newfound interest in Charles's tongue. There are any number of reasons he should do his best to look at Charles the way he always has. Over the next few weeks, he'll have to be steadfast and remain the same friend he's always been to Charles. Things haven't changed between them, _won't_ change between them. Charles may need a few things in his life he can rely on, and while Erik never expected to fill that role for anyone... he knows he won't abandon Charles to this.

"She might laugh," Erik admits. "But you'll manage." A horrible idea occurs to him, one that he wishes he hadn't thought of at all, but still... "Charles... so far the changes do look to be primarily cosmetic in nature. If this seems as though it's not going to remedy itself, perhaps there might be some form of--" he tries to cover as much of the revulsion as he can-- "corrective surgery."

Charles's hands fly immediately up to the feline ears, and he rubs his fingertips against the base of each in turn. His eyes are wide. "It's not just cosmetic, though. It seems as though I can hear through these. Presumably they have accompanying tympanic membranes, cochlea, nerves of their own..." He gives the left ear a long, soft stroke, and then draws the tip of his index finger all the way from the base of the ear up and around the rim to where it touches his head at the other side. "They're awfully sensitive."

It really does feel as though all the air in the room has been sucked out; Erik can't look anywhere but Charles's hands, stroking and petting his own ears. At this point, with all the hotel rooms they've shared, with all the stories and banter and flirting they've shared, it's almost unfathomable that they've never taken a measure of relief right in plain sight of the other-- but watching Charles pet his ears looks very much like that to Erik, and has him dizzily inspired to do the same.

But a glimpse of Charles's worried expression reminds him where this conversation started. He stalls for a moment, getting himself under control, finishing off his last piece of fish. "Then surgery isn't an option we'll pursue," he says quietly, and just as revulsion wasn't something he wanted to show Charles before, relief seems like the wrong thing to show now.

He clears the table, tossing everything in the waste bin; Charles mixes up another pair of cocktails, licking neatly around the rim of his glass to take up an errant drop of cream. Erik sits down quickly. Charles's mouth has always been one of his favorite places to look; the fact that his canine--or should that be 'feline'-- teeth are minimally longer and reportedly sharper, and God help him, the fact that Charles's tongue seems to be making an appearance every few seconds, is complicating matters more and more.

"We might want to consider getting some rest soon," Erik says quietly. "We can make a good start on getting back to Virginia if we're up early in the morning."

Charles smirks-- a bit uncharitably, Erik thinks. " _You_. Getting up early in the morning. You really must be worried."

"I am," Erik says, and it's fast enough that Charles actually blinks at him in response. "There's a great deal to do, and Shaw's further away all the time--"

"Ah." Charles sits back, drawing his glass toward him. "Well, with the CIA keeping tabs on Shaw now and Moira on our side, at least there's a way for you to be informed more precisely about his whereabouts, _hmm?"_ That last comes out in a trilling sort of sound, coming from Charles's chest more than his throat; Charles sits up and looks a little startled, keeping his voice forcibly steady as he continues, "We'll just get up early enough for you to go and find me that hat and coat, and we'll be on our way."

"There's a menswear store that opens at seven," Erik offers. Charles throws him an openly doubtful look, and Erik sighs. "It had better be me, don't you think? We can't have Freddie running around suddenly buying clothes that are obviously not for him." He glances back at Freddie, taking up so much of that single bed; Freddie is already quite a bit taller than Charles, and Erik suspects once he's stopped growing and filled in a bit, he'll be both taller and a great deal broader than Erik, too. "People will wonder why."

"Still. Seven?"

"I'll manage. But we should get that sleep." Erik looks over at the bed. "If you don't mind doing without the bedspread, I'll take the floor."

"I suppose it would be a tight squeeze to fit two in there. Not that you're unfamiliar with such contortions," Charles teases.

"I should never have told you about that time with the biathlon trainers," Erik says, smiling back. The fondness on Charles's face looks like a mirror for what Erik's feeling, and for a moment Erik can forget about the ears, the tail, pretend all this is normal and Charles is only his friend again.

But in the next instant, Charles shifts, and he lets out a yelp, twisting in his chair and reaching back with one hand. "Are these chairs patterned after some sort of medieval torture device? I keep getting the, my... my tail trapped between parts of it..." He catches up his tail in one hand and arches his back, reaching down, soothing his tail with a long stroke up from near the base all the way up to the tip. "Good heavens, it's really longer than is reasonable, isn't it?"

"Perhaps subconsciously Freddie was trying to be proportional."

"As if you'd know," Charles rolls his eyes.

Erik bristles, for some reason. "I'm not a saint, you know. I _have_ seen you just out of the shower."

For a moment, Charles just stares. And then his brilliant, dazzling, flirtatious smile comes over his face, and he says, "Well. I suppose that's a compliment, thanks. But how terribly inconvenient. I could have been a Manx, that would have been far less awkward."

"Or you might have ended up with extra toes."

Charles's eyes bulge for a moment, and he kicks off his shoes, stripping his socks off and examining his feet. "No. Thank God, the moment you said that my shoes felt tight. Don't _do_ that, it isn't funny..."

"I wasn't trying to make fun," Erik says, instantly serious. "There are any number of attributes you should be on watch for; the ears and tail and perhaps the teeth and tongue are one thing--"

"--tongue?" Charles tries to interrupt.

Erik keeps going. "--but if we find that your spine's becoming increasingly flexible or you're having difficulty walking upright, if your face begins taking on more feline characteristics--"

Charles sweeps his tongue back and forth over his lips, frowning, but he winces at the ideas Erik's putting forth. "I take your meaning," he says. "You don't really think it might get worse, do you? Maybe we should... well..." Charles looks up at him uncertainly. "I suppose as frank as we've been with one another... perhaps we could take an inventory. See how everything's attached, how it all... integrates. And you could check me for other, ah, attributes."

It's a mouthwatering prospect, which makes Erik hesitate. Charles adds tentatively, "Or perhaps I could just borrow a hand mirror? I'm afraid I don't carry one."

Erik looks down at Charles's tail-- and instantly wishes he hadn't. It's beautiful, even flicking from side to side in agitation. He blows out a breath and runs both hands through his hair. "I'll look in my bag. We never did unpack. Just-- just a moment."

Scanning the room with his power, Erik finds his kit easily and recovers a shaving mirror, which ought to serve. When he turns, Charles has already made his way into the bath, and his shirt lies abandoned across the foot of the bed. Erik rubs his sweaty palms against his thighs, trying to calm himself.

He enters and finds the room entirely too narrow for the two of them under these circumstances, with Charles down to an undershirt and loosened trousers... especially since Charles has lifted the shirt and let the trousers sink a bit, his hands feeling down his back rather awkwardly. "This is mad," he mutters, "it's so disorienting."

Erik can see how it would be. Even as high as Charles has hiked his shirt, he hasn't found the start of the fur; it runs in a soft line down the center of Charles's back, growing thicker further down, til it flourishes into the base of the tail. Dumbly, Erik hands Charles the mirror. He can't even pretend to try not to stare.

"Thank you," Charles says, reflexively polite as always. He holds the shaving mirror out, trying to coordinate between that and the small bathroom mirror to see the extent of the change. "Oh, God, there's quite a lot of fur, isn't there? More than just the tail."

"There is some, yes," Erik says. It's too much, Charles here with his clothes in such disarray, his back arched, as if he's all but inviting Erik to touch. He reaches out-- tentative, not quickly, giving Charles plenty of time to move away if he wants.

He doesn't.

"It really is all _you_ now, isn't it," Erik murmurs. He sweeps his hand down, a finger's width away from making contact, hovering just above the base of Charles's spine. Charles's tail comes up, thrashing wildly, and nearly out of instinct-- _nearly_ \-- Erik catches it in his hand.

Charles jumps, another startled noise coming from his chest. "What's _that_ meant to check for," he asks, a bit hoarse.

"It... I... you can feel that, yes?" Erik asks. Not that it wasn't obvious from the way he kept getting his tail caught in the chair... Erik's certain he couldn't be more blatant if he tried. Still, he can't quite bring himself to let Charles's tail go, the thick length warm in his hand, the fur so soft he'd like to rub his face against it.

"I certainly _can_ feel that," Charles says, a soft rumble coming up from his chest. "I suppose the rest must be sensitive to touch as well, then, but if you wouldn't mind checking..."

"The fur on your back?" Erik asks. He hopes that didn't sound as breathless as it felt. "Of course I will..."

Permission granted now-- this was Charles's _request_ \-- Erik fans out his fingers and strokes them into Charles's fur, starting at the base of his spine where the tail joins the body and moving up. But just as quickly, Charles squirms against the touch, pulling away.

"Oh-- ow, ow, don't stroke against the grain, that feels-- uncomfortable." Charles winces, biting at his lower lip... and then quickly reconsidering, as his newly-sharp teeth sink in. "That's a yes, then, yes, I'm sensitive there."

"I'm sorry," Erik says. "Can I... should I..." He can't think of a single thing he could do to help; all he wants is to pin Charles against the counter and ruffle his fur, up one side and down the other, feel Charles's tail brushing back and forth against Erik's bare chest.

He needs to get out of this bathroom. Desperately needs to leave.

Naturally, he doesn't move.

Charles reaches a hand to his back and brushes ineffectually at the fur just above the base of his tail. "I'm just scruffling it up worse," Charles says, craning his head around and blinking up at Erik. "If you could just set things back to rights--"

Erik closes his eyes for a brief moment, grasping for the shreds of his dignity and self-restraint. Charles is his _friend_. Charles is struggling to deal with an unexpected transformation. Charles does not need Erik's sudden, inappropriate attraction on top of the rest. What he needs is... what he needs is to have his _fur_ settled back into place, and Erik reaches up, gingerly, and gently strokes downward until all the fur lies smooth in the same direction again. "Sorry," Erik murmurs again.

Charles sighs. "It's all right. That feels much better." His tail lifts in a more cheerful-looking curve, and Erik keeps stroking, smoothing out the fur on Charles's tail from base to tip. He barely has an excuse for that, the ruffled fur was mostly on Charles's back, but Charles simply wriggles under his grip, seeming pleased about the gesture.

Erik steps back as much as he can once he's petted all the fur back into place. "Freddie's going to _have_ to develop more control over his ability," he murmurs. "You can't possibly go on like this for three weeks." _Erik_ can't survive this for three more weeks. For one thing, there's an increasingly urgent matter of blood flow; three _weeks_ of this...

"In fairness to him, he was awfully agitated," Charles says. "He seemed to think I'd made him a party to infidelity, and he was convinced you'd be furious if you knew." A wry little smile comes over Charles's face, showing off the slightly longer curves of his teeth... and Erik finds he wants to _lick_ those teeth, find out for himself how sharp they are. Charles adds, "Mad, I know."

"Maybe we ought to have cards printed up," Erik says, brushing his palms off on his trousers once again. "It's not the first time someone's made assumptions about us."

The flick of Charles's feline ears draws Erik's attention from his tail. Charles's facial expression is serene and teasing, but his ears are canted back a bit, which doesn't quite seem to match, somehow. "Yes, I suppose it's dreadful how people jump to conclusions."

"I always thought it bothered you a bit more than me," Erik says. His palms itch, another desperate urge to touch Charles flaring up in him. "It never got in our way, not until now. But I never expected..."

"I'm not bothered," Charles interrupts, shaking his head. His ears flatten, maybe from the motion, though their position still seems incongruous. He shifts, stretching slightly, and glances back over his shoulder once again. "I'm sorry to ask, it's rather indelicate I know, but can you see how it attaches? I can't get the mirrors angled right."

Erik hesitates, wracking his mind for an excuse. "You've still got rather a lot of clothing in the way, I can't-- maybe it would be better if I just--" he takes the shaving mirror and holds it up, trying to help angle it properly. It's a losing proposition from the get; the tail swerves back and forth, the rate only increasing as he watches.

"Oh, for pity's sake," says Charles. He peels off his undershirt and drapes it on the towel rack, and proceeds to drop trou entirely, leaning forward with his arms braced against the sink, dressed now in nothing but boxer shorts. Charcoal grey, with subtle white pinstripes, Erik notes numbly, because of course, Charles wears boxers that match his trousers. They're probably tailored and custom-made, though the fit is a bit spoiled right now by the way they're pushed low on his hips to accommodate the tail.

Tailoring notwithstanding, Charles tends to favor a wardrobe of woolens and tweeds that do nothing to flatter him. Erik has seen him in disarray once or twice during some of their joint misadventures, stolen the occasional appreciative glance as a natural consequence of sharing rooms together, so he's not entirely caught off guard by Charles's body. But it's still a surprise to see that under it all, Charles is slender but fit, his back and arms tightly muscled, pale skin scattered with freckles. It's strange to look at the line of Charles's back and find the shape of his unchanged shoulders as captivating as the new ribbon of fur that begins as a thin silky track high between his shoulderblades and thickens as it runs down the trough of his spine.

The ears and tail have been provoking Erik ever since he saw them, but now... Charles is half _bent over_ and his ears and tail are very, very evident, along with the rest of him. Erik clears his throat with difficulty. "I can certainly see, now; what is it you want to know? Maybe it would be better if you just--" he imitates Charles's habitual fingers-to-temple gesture. "Looked in from my perspective."

"All right," Charles says brightly, awfully blithe for someone who's essentially poised for a thorough shagging. "I'll be careful, I promise. Can you try to project? Just focus on letting me have what you want me to see."

"I'll try," says Erik. He can be disciplined when he needs to be, he can certainly do this. He schools himself and imagines his mind as a blank surface, slightly curved and layered with mercury, reflecting the image of Charles's back, the light dusting of fur growing more and more prominent as it reaches the small of his back, and then the perfectly-shaped tail drawing forth from his coccyx-- _tailbone_ being too much a pun for Erik to think just now. «There, can you see-- tell me if you'd like me to look elsewhere...»

«I can't imagine why that dorsal stripe of fur starts so high,» Charles thinks to him, craning without success to try to see it firsthand. He gives up with a sigh. «I wanted to test the ears, as well,» he says, and he holds his fingers pressed to his human ears. «Say something aloud?»

"What would you like me to say?" Erik asks. Instantly, the feline ears curve back toward him, and Erik blinks, wishing the thing most at the tip of his tongue weren't _They're so beautiful, Charles._ "They're, ah-- moving, can you feel them?"

«Certainly,» Charles answers. «Step to that side, will you? And say something else?»

Obediently, Erik moves to Charles's right, taking him in from the side now. From here Erik has a better view of Charles's profile, his freckled nose thankfully left alone by Freddie's mutation, the neat slightness of his torso and the way it curves into his waist, the beautiful slight round swell of his ass... all that and his tail, too, lush and real and alive. He's closer to Charles's forearms, now, and he can nearly count the freckles on them. Somehow they're every bit as compelling as all the new fur. He could spend hours, days, licking every last freckle, and they cover Charles's chest too...

He clears his throat, desperately trying to gather a few faint shards of dignity. "Here, can you hear me just as well from this side?" Only one ear moves this time, the right ear swiveling to focus on him. Erik doesn't wait for the order to move to Charles's other side; he crosses behind Charles once again, the tail lashing softly past him as he goes, and adds, "Or this side. Yes, there it goes again." The left ear's moving to listen in, now, twitching a little as Erik speaks.

"I should get a better look at those, as well," Charles says, and stops short, blinking. His human ears are still covered. "Oh, that's just odd-- my voice sounds different through the other ears. More... well, _more_ ; it's as if I can hear more, hm, frequencies?" He leans forward to the mirror, squinting upwards, but after a moment gives up in frustration, shaking his head. "I can't see those, either, the light in here is just terrible. They might not blend in permanently, but the hair on my head is camouflaging them just enough I can't make out the base of them... have another look, please? As long as we're at it..."

And just like that, Charles folds himself to the floor, resting on his knees with his head tilted back so his feline ears are in Erik's view and in his reach.

The blood really _does_ rush from Erik's head this time; he feels dizzy, aroused enough that the images presenting themselves shock even him. From here it would be easy to bury his hands in Charles's hair, spin Charles around to face him, cradle those new velvety ears in his hands while driving into Charles's mouth--

Wait, wait, these are _thoughts_ , he's _thinking_ these things-- he's thinking these things while an unfathomably powerful telepath kneels at his feet, a telepath whom Erik invited _into his thoughts_ mere moments ago. If Charles is still there-- if he's there _now_ , reading these thoughts, this is an invasion of Charles's privacy and personal sovereignty that Erik ought really to be ashamed of. Teasing each other with hints about their exploits is one thing, even joking about people they've watched each other disappear with before, but to imagine brutally using Charles's mouth while Charles is, at least theoretically, invited to listen in-- it's nearly an assault, and Erik regrets those thoughts as soon as he realizes them.

Still... maybe Charles isn't reading them. He seems completely unperturbed, merely blinking up at Erik, one ear pointing toward him as if in question, as if waiting for him to speak. Erik stifles a groan.

"Yes, just a moment, let me see what I can..." More self-conscious now, Erik brushes Charles's hair aside at the base of one ear, looking at it as carefully-- as _clinically_ \-- as he can. Whatever attraction he's feeling, he pushes it aside, ignoring it in favor of taking in Charles's ear in as much detail as he can. "Care to look in again?"

"Yes, please," Charles says politely, lifting a hand to his temple. He closes his own eyes, and Erik looks slowly over the entire exterior of the ear and what he can make out of the inside.

They really are exactly like a cat's ears. Erik has never spent quite this much time examining the ears of any particular cat, but it all seems familiar: the brushy pale hairs covering the front of the ear, guarding the ear canal, and all the delicate muscles and thin cartilage connecting them to Charles's scalp; the fuzzy trail of fur leading all the way up to the tips; the curve of a vein along the very circumference of the ears.

"They're so... complete," Charles says, sounding at once fascinated and unhappy. He reaches up carefully and brushes his fingers over the guard fur alone, and startles a little. "Oh, that's-- peculiar. I can feel that as well."

There is discipline, and then there is this: Charles kneeling all but naked before him and touching the sensitive new ears. Erik knows he can't possibly hide the attraction from Charles now, no matter how careful Charles is being.

And he's right, judging by Charles's reaction. He stops touching the ears at once, and quickly stands and begins to dress again. "Thank you. It's good to have a clearer picture, that's something."

Erik quickly exits the bathroom, trying to get control of his body, smoothing his hands down the front of his trousers. "If there's anything I can do to help, just ask. I'm sure it won't be long before you're back to-- to normal--" He's trying not to regret the idea; it's not fair to wish Charles could stay this way.

"I certainly hope so. But I appreciate your forbearance in the meantime." Charles comes out of the bath and brushes by, the tail swaying behind him, just long enough to collect his pajamas.

The tail whispers against Erik's wrist, and he finds himself saying too brusquely, "I have a pair of scissors in my shaving kit if those aren't comfortable as they are."

"That's thoughtful of you, thanks. But they're loose enough, I think," Charles says as he disappears into the bath again. When he emerges, he's neatly buttoned into the pajamas, and the tail is nowhere in sight. Erik stares until he realizes Charles has tucked the tail down one pantleg.

Charles makes a face as the tip twitches against his heel. "That will do, I suppose." He laughs with a touch of mania. "Now I suppose I dress left _and_ right."

The mental image makes Erik want to beat his head against the wall; he takes a breath and glances back toward the bathroom. "I'll just brush my teeth and I'll be out, then. Won't take a moment." Or a few moments, because he cannot possibly sleep in this condition. He'll be quick about it, perfunctory, not imagining that tail sweeping back and forth against him while he fucks Charles, not not _not_.

He steals a quick look to make certain Charles didn't read his mind and catch that. Luckily Charles isn't reacting at all; he's occupied with folding the bedspread and the spare blankets to make a pallet for Erik.

Erik leaves the water in the sink running while he takes matters into his own hands, and relief comes almost embarrassingly quickly, all told. There's nothing to be done about his flushed face but to splash water around and hope Charles ascribes his high color to some brisk scrubbing.

The lights are low when he comes back into the main room, just a reading lamp on near Charles's bed. The pallet Charles made for him is decently comfortable, Erik finds when he tucks himself under the covers. He's certainly slept much rougher. "If you're up before I am, don't hesitate to wake me," he tells Charles. "Have you set the alarm?"

He knows Charles has; he can feel the engaged gears within the clock. But he always likes the way Charles handles the heavy, precise brass travel clock when he picks it up and double-checks.

"It's set," Charles says, "and I arranged for a wake-up call at six as well. Will you be warm enough?"

It's a bit of a pointless question; there's nothing to be done about it if he isn't. Erik shrugs, "It will be fine."

The cat ears slant down a bit, and Erik finally recognizes what those movements represent. If he were more familiar with cats, perhaps he would have seen it before. Charles's ears aren't just responding to sound, they're also moving with his mood; not just the obvious, the way they lay back when he's upset, but in subtler ways as well. Just now, the angle of those ears looks somehow a little uncertain, a little forlorn.

He must be reading it wrong, though, because Charles shows nothing but his usual calm composure, his face tranquil as he says, "Good night, then, Erik," and puts out the light.


End file.
